“How nice it would be to have him at our place. If anything, we don’t make that kind of offer often enough.”
She’d change that though. Maybe some of the Lost Cowboy-Flying R meetings could be held in New York.
The door opened and Bullet walked in, carrying Grey. He’d been standoffish to her since the other night even though she’d tried to apologize more than once. Each time, he’d waved her off.
“Mornin’,” he said, more to Liv than to her.
“Good morning to you, too. How’s my big boy today?” Liv walked over and took Grey out of Bullet’s arms.
“You sure about this, ma’am?”
“There are at least two things I’m sure about. One, you know my name. It’s Liv, and I expect you to use it. Two, Caden has been asking me for over an hour when her buddy Grey is going to be here. She’ll be thrilled to see him, which makes my life much easier.”
Liv unbuttoned Grey’s jacket and went in the direction of the family room, where Caden was playing. Tristan heard the little girl squeal when she saw her playmate.
“He loves comin’ over here.” Bullet shuffled his feet. “And she’s so great to make it seem like she ain’t doin’ me a favor when she watches him.” He looked at the floor, then the ceiling, then over her head, in the direction of the family room. Everywhere but at her.
“Bullet, I want you to know how sorry I am about what I said the other night. What you do isn’t any of my business. I don’t know the first thing about being a parent, or a bull rider. I’m in no position to judge you.”
“I told you before not to worry about it.” He still didn’t look at her. “My life is a mess right now, and I’m workin’ hard to get it right. As right as I can anyway, considerin’ my son no longer has a mama.”
Tristan’s eyes filled with tears.
“It ain’t nothin’ for you to cry about. We don’t need you feelin’ sorry for us.”
At least he finally looked at her. “I don’t feel sorry for you, Bullet. Or Grey. It’s just that I understand—”
“Forgive me for leavin’ in the middle of your sentence, but if
I don’t, I’m gonna say somethin’ I’ll regret. I will say this, though.” He walked closer, his eyes boring into hers as he did. “You don’t understand anything about my life, or my son’s life. Nothing at all.”
When Bullet stormed out of the front door, Tristan closed her eyes and waited for it to slam behind him, but it didn’t.
It wasn’t her fault. It was his. But he couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at her, he saw his own shortcomings. He’d wasted a hell of a lot of the last couple of years having fun, not thinking about the consequences of his actions. He had two kids to prove it.
This morning, he’d spent a half hour trying to talk Hannah Pearl’s mama into letting his daughter come and stay with him for a few days. She questioned him up one side and down the other about what happened with Callie and why he was in Colorado with Grey. When he told her he didn’t know why Callie killed herself, the woman lit into him.
“Bullshit,” she’d said. “I know how it feels when you lose interest. I’ve lived through it. Remember?”
He hadn’t lost interest in Callie. He’d tried, more times than he could count, to make their relationship work. It didn’t help the guilt he felt, especially since he was still dreaming about her pretty near every night.
“Ready to get to work?” Lyric asked. “You’re leavin’ tomorrow, right?”
“Right,” Tristan nodded her head.
“You and Bullet have some powerful chemistry between you.”
“What? No, we don’t. We don’t have anything between us.”
“Uh huh. He’s under your skin, and you’re under his.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Bullet is…” What could she say that wouldn’t insult his twin sister? She’d been about to say that he was immature. And pig-headed.
“Waitin’.” Lyric drummed her fingers on the table.
“For what? Oh.” Tristan pulled out her pile of notes.
“No, not for that. Bullet is…you didn’t finish your sentence.”